


First Light

by erebones



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Disability, Domestic, Established Relationship, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Character, transmasculine felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A loose followup to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6038662/chapters/15268528">this</a> prompt. Carver is having nightmares again, but Felix helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Light

_ Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, done.  _

Carver nearly falls forward on his face but he catches himself and rolls onto his back instead, red in the face and his arms burning with exertion. It's been a long time since he was able to go a hundred without stopping, and it feels good even though his body is screaming in protest. 

There's a soft  _ clink _ from the kitchen and he grabs for his phone to check the time. 6:30. Felix is an early riser, but on weekends he tends to lounge in bed until well after the sun is up. He rubs a cursory layer of sweat from the face and rolls to his feet. As expected, Felix is in the kitchen, setting out mason jars and assembling fresh fruit on the counter in tidy rows. Carver slips in behind him and drops a kiss on the back of his neck. 

“Morning.” 

“Hello,” Felix says, tilting his neck in invitation. Carver kisses his throat in soft progression, from clavicle to jaw, and stops there with his nose buried behind his ear. “Loud noise.”

“Mmhmm.” 

The blender roars to life. In spite of the warning, Carver still jumps a little bit, but he squeezes Felix around the waist in reassurance. It's a beautiful purplish-red color, like a sunset on the fringes of a watery horizon. Carver closes his eyes and inhales Felix's scent, spicy and a little musky from sleep, and it settles the restless tension in his bones. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asks when silence falls again. He loosens his grip a little and watches over Felix’s shoulder as his boyfriend carefully layers the assembled ingredients in jars: smoothie first, then a bit of yogurt and chopped fruit, more smoothie, and a generous helping of granola on top. 

“Are you asking because I'm up earlier than usual?” 

“Mmmmmaybe.” 

Felix chuffs softly. “I did sleep well, thank you. How about you?”

“I think you know the answer to that question.”

Felix turns in his loose embrace and cups his face in his palms, so light he can barely feel it, his thumbs settling in the dark hollows under Carver’s eyes. It’s the third night in a row, and he’s a little ashamed of himself. Ashamed that his body refuses to operate the way it should, even after all this time, even with a warm, consolate body in the bed beside him. Ashamed that Felix is seeing this relapse first-hand.  _ I should be better. I have to be better.  _

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Felix says, quietly but with an undertone of steel, “stop.”

Carver scoffs and turns his face away, but he can’t quite shake the gentle cling of Felix’s hands. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“True, but I have a fair idea.” He lets him go, finally, and presses one of the mason jars into his hand. “Drink up, darling. Or did you want a spoon?”

“Spoon, please.” He steps away to let Felix maneuver around the kitchen in search of silverware. It’s a little bit amazing to him, how well he fits here: in his kitchen, in his apartment, in his life. Especially after their… less than auspicious meeting. The memory of waking up in Felix’s bed, alone and hungover, is one he revisits frequently, usually against his will—his brother’s circle of friends (and by extension, his own) never seem to tire of the “how you met” story.

Felix chivvies him into the sitting area and deposits a spoon in his breakfast when they’ve situated themselves on the slumping couch. Carver is happy to be directed. It’s hard to shake the habit—months and months of running and jumping and behaving at the behest of a superior officer has left its mark on him, short-lived as his military career turned out to be. 

They eat in companionable silence, Felix’s legs slung over Carver’s knees. He’s wearing what he wore to bed—snug boxer briefs and an oversized tee of Carver’s with a loose neck worn out from use and the name of his unit stamped in faded letters on the front—and his legs are smooth and brown, with his ankles crossed neatly. His toes are painted a brilliant salmon pink, and Carver lets his spoon clink back into the mason jar so he can stroke the top of Felix’s foot very lightly. 

Felix’s toes curl. “Tickles.”

“Sorry.” He squeezes his ankle more firmly and withdraws. “I like that color on you.”

“Thank you.” He wriggles a little deeper into the ancient couch cushion and slurps down the last of his breakfast. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“PT,” he says, making a face at his half-full jar. His stomach already feels too full, but he knows he needs to eat the rest or Felix will silently worry even more than he already is. “I don’t want to go but Fen will tell on me if I don’t.”

“You need to go. It’s good for you.”

“But I can  _ walk _ , Fee. That was the whole point, right? Acclimating? I took a jog yesterday and everything. It’s been  _ years _ .”

Felix, very kindly, doesn’t point out the recent bout of insomnia that leaves him feeling dry-eyed and off-balance, and always just on the very edge of nausea. He’d had pills for that, once. Two years ago. 

“I know, but it’s important to keep in the habit—” He cuts himself off. “You know the drill, you’ve heard it a hundred times from Fenris. You don’t need to hear it from me.”

There’s an apology in there somewhere. Carver slings back the rest of his smoothie and sets the empty jar aside so he can devote both hands to Felix’s beautiful long legs. He’s shaved recently, and from his trim ankles to the knobs of his knees is like silk, inviting him to reach higher. Felix tilts his head to the side against the couch and smiles at him, heavy-lidded. Carver’s heart twists in his chest. He can’t think of what he’s done in his life to get lucky enough to have Felix in it, but he thanks the Maker every day regardless. 

“What are you thinking about?” Felix asks quietly. 

“How lucky I am.” It sounds cliche to his own ears, but it’s the truth, and it gets a crinkled nose and a blush from his boyfriend, so he’ll count it as a win. “You’re beautiful this morning.”

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

“So?” He palms the arch of Felix’s foot, which flexes in response; but his touch is firm enough to keep it from tickling, so Felix relaxes again, his calf going soft on Carver’s thigh. 

“I’m not…  _ put together _ .”

Carver shrugs, thumb fitting neatly below the bump of his ankle. “I like you best this way. Like you are with just  _ me _ .”

“Special boy,” Felix teases. He licks the rim of his mason jar and sets it on the ground. With a little huff of exertion, he wriggles lower on the couch so that his head is propped on the lumpy arm and his knees are propped up over Carver’s thighs. Carver’s left hand slides a little higher between his legs, pinky brushing the inseam of his briefs. 

“What are  _ your _ plans for the day?”

Felix sighs in extensive thought, hands folded on his chest like a sage. “I don’t know. Errands.” His knees part a little bit, and there’s a flicker of a knowing smile on his face. “I was hoping for sleepy morning sex with my boyfriend, but I think that bird has already flown the coop.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Carver says, letting a flicker of heat kindle in his body. “That can be arranged.” He squeezes the soft flesh of Felix’s inner thigh and widens his own legs just a little to make room for his stirring prick. “Have anything in mind?”

“Hmmmmm… your mouth.” He slides a hand up his own shirt to massage his chest, the left side; the slow palpation of his fingers under the fabric is mesmerizing. “And your cock. Please.” He shifts his hips into Carver’s hand. “But first, your fingers.”

“The whole nine yards, huh?” It’s a bit of an awkward angle, but he turns his wrist to the side so that he can cup between Felix’s legs with his palm at the top of his mons and his fingers down between his legs. A gentle squeeze or two and Felix rocks into his grip, pink-cheeked. “Little bit damp down here.”

Felix huffs a laugh. “Just wait ’til you get my pants off.”

That sounds like a really good idea. Carver leans over and snags the waistband, and with a little lifting on Felix’s part, slides the boxer briefs down and off. Felix immediately draws his right knee up and rests it against the back of the couch, and Carver turns to sit sideways, one arm around Felix’s propped-up knee and the other hand stroking the coarse hair between his legs. Felix is fastidious with every part of his body, especially here—the hair is neatly trimmed, and his inner thighs are soft, inviting touch. Carver runs his thumb along the seam of his labia and hums with approval and admiration. 

“Told you,” Felix says quietly as Carver rubs slick fingers together, a bit of a self-satisfied glimmer in his eye.

“Sorry I kept you waiting.” His thumb presses a little deeper, up along the groove to his clit, and there he lingers, drawing slow circle around and around as Felix’s eyes grow dark and his lids fall lower, thick-lashed and dazed. “No wonder you were out of bed so fast.”

“I was a little disappointed to wake up alone,” Felix admits on a gasp. “But… mmm… I knew you’d make it up to me.”

“Oh sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

A flash of teeth shows behind his smile. “Perfect.”

With his two forefingers, Carver parts him and slides down, admiring the view. “Will you take your shirt off for me, lovely?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” With a bit of wriggling and writhing, Felix tugs the oversized shirt off his head and lets it flop to the floor. His nipples are stiff and dark already from his earlier ministrations; he lets his arms stretch out over his head and Carver leans forward, right hand still working, to kiss the center of his chest. “Over.” Felix pushes his head and he goes, lets his tongue drag across soft skin to one stiff bud. He sucks it into his mouth and Felix makes a sound of contentment, fingers coiled in his hair. 

When Carver judges him ready, he slides two fingers into his body and crooks them just so. Felix grunts. “Good?”

“Deeper.”

Carver obeys. He likes it when Felix is a little bit bossy—telling him what to do, exactly how to touch him. There were a few false starts, when they started becoming more intimate. Carver had hardly any experience with equipment like his, and Felix wasn’t always very good at vocalizing what he liked and what he didn’t. But they got better at talking to each other, and so did the sex. Now it’s second nature to do this—drawing out the pleasure with his hands, kissing him when and where he asks, and when Felix tightens his grip on his hair and pushes him down, Carver goes, blood hammering in his ears and his cock straining the front of his shorts as he settles between Felix’s thighs. 

He nuzzles the seam of his thigh and inhales, remembering the first time they’d had sex. It was still fairly early on—Carver had been escorting Felix home via the underground, and between the wine they’d had with dinner and Felix’s proximity, all it took to get him fired up was the rhythm of the train: the jerky back and forth, with Felix pressed right up against him for how crowded it was. Helpless and horrified with himself, Carver had tried valiantly to pretend he wasn’t popping a stiffy right into Felix’s backside. The walk to his apartment from the station had been… uncomfortable, to say the least. But Felix had insisted he come inside, a peculiar gleam in his eye, and dragged him into a kiss as soon as the door shut behind them, a kiss that blazed to life and turned into desperate, open-mouthed frottage against the wall. 

He’s a little embarrassed to think of it now, but also a little turned on. He shifts his hips against the couch so he isn’t getting pinched and wriggles his tongue up, along the blood-hot, slippery grove to Felix’s clit, where he slowly curls his tongue. A long, low exhale comes from further up the couch, and he feels his hair being stroked back from his forehead. Felix is watching. He hums and draws his fingers back in, teasing the rim of his entrance. He hears a soft gasp, and then a muttered curse. 

“Don’t tease me.”

Carver parts from him with a wet smack and wipes the back of his mouth cheekily. “You like it when I tease you.”

“I like it when you stop talking and eat me.” But Felix grabs his chin and holds him, as if admiring what a wreck Carver has become. His eyes slide down his bare chest to the distended front of his shorts, and further. “How’s your leg?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t want to move to the bed?”

Carver feels a sharp retort on his tongue, but he swallows it as he looks at Felix, spread out on his old, dilapidated couch like a sultan on a pile of sackcloth. “Yeah, let’s.” 

In a swift movement he bends and scoops his hands under Felix’s hips. When Felix has hooked his legs around his waist and his arms around his shoulders, he stands upright, ignoring the slight stiffness where his prosthetic leg meets his knee. Felix’s brow wrinkles. “Carv…”

“Hush. Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”

Felix huffs, but he drops the subject, instead kissing him as he navigates the hall to his bedroom. Tantalized by the taste of his mouth, he presses Felix against the wall and lets himself be had, tongue pressing forward eagerly and one hand gripping his bare arse a little more firmly. Felix growls and sucks on his tongue before pulling back, starting to go blotchy and his breath coming harsh. “ _ I  _ am going to do as little as possible while you fuck me silly. After that…” He pets away the hair flopping into Carver’s face and drops a sweet kiss on the bridge of his nose. “I’d quite like to suck you, if that’s all right.”

“If I ever turn down a blowjob from you, sweetheart, there’s something wrong.”

Felix snorts and tucks his thumb under Carver’s brow, a tender touch that has him closing his eyes and leaning his weight into the wall a little more. “Noted. May we proceed?”

“Mmmm. Yeah, let’s do that.”

He finally makes it to the bedroom, letting Felix go down gently to the mattress. Then he shucks his shorts and smalls and leans his arse on the edge of the mattress to unclasp his prosthetic. He can’t disguise a little sigh of relief when it comes loose, and Felix is watching him when he turns back, crawling up the bed on his knees to kiss his belly. 

“Does it hurt?”

“I can handle it,” he says, and he scoops Felix’s hips up and buries his mouth between his thighs. 

“One of these days,” Felix gasps, “you’re going to have to stop deflecting. Ohhhh Maker, that’s nice.”

Carver hums and licks him open, sucks and laps with his tongue, scrapes blunt nails across Felix’s hips and stomach to leave faint pink trails behind. Felix wails and tugs at his hair, pushing him closer, close enough that it’s a trick to breathe but he dives deeper anyway. Deep enough that he can feel the muscles contract against his tongue, taste the little spurt of fluid that dribbles down his chin and onto the sheets. 

“Fuck,” Felix sighs as his fingers unwind from his hair. He strokes Carver’s scalp lovingly, pink from hairline to the middle of his chest, and runs a thumb across the slick surface of his stubbled cheek. “You are too bloody good at that.” 

“Love doing it,” Carver mumbles as he takes Felix’s thumb into his mouth. It pops free with a wet sound, and his cock throbs against the mattress. “Babe…”

“C’mere. And wipe your face off, darling.” In spite of the request, Felix does it for him, lifting a corner of the sheet to pat him dry. The salty taste of him is still strong in his mouth when Felix drags him down for a kiss. “You’re so good to me,” he whispers. He reaches down with a clever hand, tweaking a nipple on the way down, and wraps his fingers around Carver’s prick. “Get on your back.”

Carver goes without question, hitting the mattress with a soft  _ thwap _ . His cock springs into the air comically, and he reaches down to quell it, but Felix beats him to the punch—a snug grip around the base and then up, dragging the foreskin up and over and then back down again, releasing him to cup his balls close to his body. Carver shudders and spreads his thighs. 

“You’re so lovely from this angle.” Felix swings astride him, still playing with the first few inches. His hips tilt forward, and Carver’s prick slides along the wet groove between his legs, silky-slippery and addicting. Carver grips the sheets in one hand and Felix’s thigh in the other, shivering. “Look at you. All pink like a posey.” Felix bends in half, the bloody flexible bastard, and drops a wet kiss on his navel, running his tongue around just inside the rim. “Can I sit on your cock?”

“Please,” Carver rasps. It’s about all the room he has inside him for proper words. 

Felix sits up, shoulders back and every breath heaving out his diaphragm, his small breasts pink and peaked from attention. He lowers himself slowly, taking Carver in inch by inch, until he’s sitting flush to Carver’s hips—Carver bites his lip, feeling as if he can’t breathe. The ache in his leg fades to a background annoyance, overwhelmed instead by the tight, blood-hot clasp of Felix around him. Where he grips Felix’s strong thighs, the dusky brown of his skin blooms rose like a sunset. Felix looks down at him with twilight-grey eyes and smiles through his sighs. 

“Nice?”

“You know it is.” He wraps his hand around one of his hips and adjusts the angle of his wrist so that his thumb can spread him open. “Maker you’re lovely,” he grits out. Felix is barely moving, but it’s enough to squeeze his gut with how incredible it feels. “Fuck…”

“Mmm.” He moves with languid purpose, slow and steady the way he does when he’s already got off and is in it for the long haul to the next peak. Carver isn’t half so nuanced, but he doesn’t mind. Felix always takes care of him, and he’s happy to be used in the meantime. He’s so bare and unselfconscious with Carver—the bold comfort he takes in his own body is something Carver has always been impressed by, always struggled to achieve for himself. 

Felix leans forward, bracing one hand beside his head, and with the other he reaches out and drags his fingers through Carver’s wild hair. Carver leans up and into it, up enough to kiss him. Felix smiles through it, as if amused by his desperation, and somehow that turns him on even more. “Fee…”

“You’re so needy this morning, my darling,” he says. His hands disappears between his legs and Carver follows, obeying the directions of his touch in soft, quick circles right where Felix most needs it. “ _ Oh, _ Maker’s sweet  _ cunny _ that’s good.”

“Blasphemer,” Carver laughs, and kicks his hips up into the next stroke. “And I always need you.”

“Just let me— _ fuck _ . Fuck, how do you…?”

“You’ve got this flush, when you get close,” Carver murmurs, holding himself still for Felix’s hungry cunt as the pressure of his thumb increases. “Right there, on your chest, like you’re burning up from the inside… yeah, baby, that’s it, you gorgeous—”

“ _ Ungh _ .” Felix leans forward and rides his thumb as his body clenches tight around Carver’s prick. “Maker  _ fuck _ …” He sighs and slumps limply against Carver’s chest. Carver slips free of him, but it doesn’t matter. Felix mouths at his neck and his entire body, flushed and damp, is Carver’s to touch and kiss and love. “Why is it,” he mumbles after a moment or two, “that I only ever ejaculate when you’re eating me out?”

Carver snickers and gives his arse a squeeze. “Because my mouth is just that talented?”

“Most likely.” He pushes himself up and rolls over onto his back with a groan. “Although your dick is quite nice, too. But if you want it sucked you’re going to have to come up here and sit on my face, because you fucked my bones to mush.”

“Now that’s what I call talent.” Carver kisses his chest on his way up, and slings his thighs to either side of Felix’s ribs. “This okay?”

“One more pillow, I think.”

“Unf. Got it.” He reaches over with some effort and snags one of the throw pillows that’s been shoved to the far side of the mattress. When Felix wedges it beneath his back, it gives him just the right boost to put his mouth level with Carver’s hips. Carver strokes his chin and braces his other hand against the headboard, holding on as that sweet mouth envelops him. “Nng. Fee…”

“Mm.” He withdraws slowly, smacking his lips appreciatively after. “You taste like me.”

“Hardly surprising, considering…  _ ahhh _ …” He drops his train of thought like a string of beads without a knot, and they go scattering in every direction, reduced to gasps and grunts as Felix sucks him deep. Felix digs his hands into Carver’s thighs, dragging his attention from the velvet slide of his tongue—then he draws back and suckles the tip, teeth flirting gently with the sensitive skin, and Carver grips the headboard so hard he fears it might splinter. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Felix smirks around his cock and finally takes pity, one hand coming to stroke him off while he laves wet kisses on the first few inches. His tongue is delicate and soft, but every touch is impossibly good, like little sparks bursting in the night from a damp fire. Carver’s head drops to his chest and he squeezes Felix’s shoulder in warning. 

“Beautiful,” Felix murmurs, withdrawing. He twists his wrist, dragging his orgasm out of him—he grunts and bucks forward, smearing the head of his cock against Felix’s cheek as he cums. It splashes white against his dark skin and against the pillow, and he bites back curses as his limbs grow weak. But Felix saves him from collapse, maneuvering him over onto his side and patting his chest comfortingly. 

“That’s it, darling. Just rest a moment.” 

He slips out of bed and Carver loses track of him for a minute. When he comes back, he’s got a damp flannel to wipe them down with. The pillow is a lost cause, unfortunately, so he strips the case off and drops it in the dirty laundry before crawling back into bed. 

“How’s that for morning sex?” Carver mumbles sleepily. 

“Very well done. Flying colors.” He kisses him, lips still stinging from being scrubbed clean, and hums when Carver pats his bum. “How’s your leg?”

“It’s  _ fine _ , Mum.”

“Carv…”

“It is. I promise. Okay?” He peeks one eye open and smiles encouragingly. “Lay down with me, love?”

Felix sighs and curls up against him, drawing aimless patterns on his chest and stomach. “Do you want me to come with you today?”

He means to therapy. Fenris would probably appreciate it—Carver can be difficult to deal with, at his appointments, but Felix has a gift for keeping him calm. Or at least keeping him from spouting off at the slightest provocation. It had been suggested, tentatively, that Carver find a new therapist, one that doesn’t aggravate his temper quite so much, but Carver refused. He trusts Fenris—trusts him enough to be honest with him, to be honestly  _ angry _ with him, and Fenris trusts him well enough to take it. It’s a weird partnership they have, but it works. And Carver doesn’t think he has it in him to adjust to a new  _ health professional _ , anyway. It had taken a long time to find Fenris—he isn’t letting him go. 

“Yeah okay,” he says, and pretends he doesn’t notice the way Felix relaxes against him. “But can we just lay here for a while first?”

“No complaints here.” Felix kisses his shoulder and rests his head on it after, palm held flat against his sternum. Carver wonders if he can feel his heartbeat, still thumping heartily against his sternum after their...  _ calisthenics _ . He hums and closes his eyes. “I love you.”

Carver twitches a little, though he doesn’t mean to. They’ve been saying the “L word” for a month or two, but infrequently—they are both demonstrative men, preferring actions over words. Yet somehow that lack makes saying it aloud all the more powerful. He tightens the arm wrapped around Felix’s waist, trapped beneath his body, and ducks down to kiss his forehead. “Love you.” His mouth is so dry. He licks his lips and shuts his eyes.  _ What did I do to deserve you?  _

“What are you thinking about?”

“Pizza,” he answers automatically, and twitches when Felix gives him a light pinch in the side. “ _ Ow _ .”

“You’re so full of shit,” he says, but fondly. 

“You know what I’m thinking about, Fee,” is his quiet reply. 

“I know. And I wish you wouldn’t.” Felix props himself up on one elbow to look down at him. When Carver purses his lips, he smiles and gives him a kiss. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m not,” Carver says, and kisses him again quickly to keep him from protesting. “But that you think so is the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received.”

Felix’s smile softens. “Sweet-talker.”

“Come here,” Carver says imperiously, rather than make eye contact. “I’d rather stop talking. I just want to hold you.”

“All right.” Felix sprawls out beside him and pats his belly. “Go to sleep, darling. I’ll wake you in time to shower before we go.”

Carver doesn’t think he  _ can _ fall asleep, but Felix’s warmth and the lingering effects of his rather fantastic orgasm must be enough to push him over the edge. He slips away to the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair, and the rise and fall of someone else’s breath soothing him into slumber. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've written Carver with a prosthetic leg before, idk why but the idea appeals to me, sort of like a physical reflection of how he feels about himself, according to my (sometimes) interpretation. Also, sorry I suck at endings. :P


End file.
